Blindside
by Chris Coven Goodmakers
Summary: Elseworld kind of story. in which Batman lived through the 30's to 60's and is now dead, Gotham is the turist capitol of the world, and the JLA is a currupt Burocracy. however a new Arrival to Gotham revives old ideals, and inspires a nation (updated)
1. Default Chapter

BLINDSIDE

Chris Goodmakers

Chapter one 

Gotham, City Of Glamour

The 10:30 from Alaska to Gotham arrived at 11:00 on the dot. The 767 landed smoothly on the long runway with the ease of a goose in water. It parked at the terminal and unloaded its human cargo. Alex shuffled his way through the exiting crowds, his single carry on bag clutched in his hand. He threw the strap for the small duffle over his shoulder. It briefly rubbed up against a small 3rd degree burn scar that emerged from the left side of his neck, up to behind his ear. It was the Tip of a very painful iceberg.

Being a man of good size Alex had little problem navigating through the hoards of people pouring of the plane into Gotham. Tourists. The man in front of him was snapping incessant pictures through a small digital camera. Alex's attention was drawn to his ball cap. Something he had no doubt bought especially for this trip. A black full back with the words "I Heart Gotham" sewed in white on the front, and on the back was the yellow oval and black symbol of "The Batman". That was a popular gimmick for Gotham. Even there travel brochure read "Gotham City, Birthplace Of Justice". There was a long-standing feud between them and Metropolis for that.

Metropolis claimed that they had Superman first, and Batman came second. However die hard Gothamites argued that the rumours of Batman on the street existed before Superman made his official debut at the Metropolis world's fair, when he rescued a crashing experimental aircraft.

Alex was filled with useless knowledge like that; he idolized the world's finest as a kid. Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow. There used to be a reverence when one spoke their name. People used to be proud of those names. Although they were all dead by the time Alex was born he always used to read about them. He obsessed over them as a kid, collected all the comics that chronicled their adventures, watched all the news programs that had exclusive footage just recovered. Being a superhero used to be an art, used to be pure, used to exist in only the noblest of those on earth. That was hasn't been the case in a long time.

After wrestling with the crowd Alex grabbed his few bags off the conveyer belt and headed out the terminal door. He desperately tried to hail a cab, but before he could grab some eager tourist or obnoxious businessman always snatched one it out from under him. Finally he flagged one down to him and defended it with his life. He quickly threw his bags in the trunk and climbed in the back seat.

He buckled up and the cabbie drove out of the Airport round about and onto the Gotham Freeway.

"So, were may I take you this fine afternoon" he asked in a slight Hindi accent. Alex looked up from the floor of the cab.

"Any good long term motels?" he asked inquisitively, knowing that his stay in Gotham would be well extended.

"Ah yes, I know many mighty fine places, you planning on being here long?" The cabbie asked, obviously trying to hide his accent in a slew of contemporary American expressions. Alex stared off blankly into space, having only one thing as his particular point of interest.

"No longer then I need to" he exclaimed monotonous, detached. His mind was adrift. He quickly snapped out of it and brought his attention back to the cabbie. Inconspicuous, he had to be that. So what does someone who doesn't want to be particularly odd ask a cabbie upon entering one of the tourism capitals of America? "So, what is there to do in Gotham?" Alex feigned a perfect amount of interest.

"Oh, yes. There are many good things to do" The cabbie was excited, his voice traveled at great speed, almost matching his cab. "There is "The Dark Knight", a mighty fine musical. Also you can also visit the very nice Wayne Manor and see the Batman Museum, they have actually fully reconstructed the Bat-Cave as it was back in 1956. Plus they have all 3-Batmobiles on display. Also you can take the "on streets of Gotham" tour, which is a midnight tour that's re-traces Batman's nightly patrol over the city. They have some most entertaining re-enactments" Alex fuzzed out the rest of the cabby's boastings about the city. He got the basic idea after he said "Batman" twenty times.

The cab pulled of the extensive Gotham freeway and into the Hotel district of the city. A place built solely to house and impresses the endless stream of tourists to Gotham. The Cabby pulled up to a large building, massive in size, but in perspective of the other buildings around it lacked grandness. The cab pulled up the front entrance; Alex slowly stepped out of the car. He passed a few bills to the Cabby through his open passenger window.

After grabbing his luggage from the trunk he walked up to the front doors. The cab peeled away quickly, no doubt back to the airport to transport another batch of eager tourists. The lobby of the hotel was nice. It had red carpet, hanging crystal chandelier, oak furniture, and the works. Anything to separate the tourists from there money.

A strikingly pretty receptionist waived over Alex to the front desk. He strolled over, lugging his bags over his shoulder.

"How may I help you this fine afternoon" She exclaimed all perky and sickeningly nice. Dropping his bags Alex placed his hands on the counter and leaned over it a bit.

"Yeah, I would like to get a room please" He made sure he was polite, courteous. People usually remember the rude ones.

"Certainly" she peppery replied. Turning to the computer to her right she began to type incessantly on the keyboard. The clacking of the keys annoyed Alex to no end. What ever happened to a black logbook and a pencil? "We seem to have a vacancy in the "Trumpet Sweet", would you like to book you in there?" Trumpet Sweet eh? Sounded expensive, but Alex wasn't one to argue. He gave his approval and the r

Receptionist went back to typing on her computer. "Ok, your all done here, our room clerk will show you to it" Alex nodded and turned around. He was greeted by a kid no more then twenty who took his bags and walked to the elevator.

They took it up to the 6th floor. Alex and the Bag Boy exited and walked down a long hall covered in a plus red carpet and wood grain walls. Everything was so nice and presentable, an obvious façade. Alex's room was room 627 at the very end of the hall. The Bag Boy unlocked the door and stepped through, Alex followed. The place was amazing, large living room with centre fireplace and bed in the far corner. By the looks of it Alex would only be able to stay in this place for about a week, but it would be enough time.

After placing his bags in the room the Bag Boy stood there, his hand pompously sticking out. Alex looked at for a second. He brushed his long black hair away from his eyes and looked up at the Bag Boy, who was refusing to make eye contact. Reaching into his pocket Alex pulled out a dollar bill and placed it in the Bag Boy's hand. Apparently money was to the Bag Boy's offence because he stuck his nose up at Alex and stomped out of the room.

After being rid of the annoyance Alex laid his feet up on the couch that sat in the far side of the room, it looked out of the large bay window over all of Gotham. He reached over and grabbed the Phone next to his bed, the caption on the top read "dial #9 to get out". He did so.

He punched in a phone number he had committed to memory, 371-555-3485.

"Gotham Pier Hotel, How may I help you?" asked a voice on the other end.

"Yes, um I'm looking for Travis Cane" Alex asked. The voice paused for a moment and then came back to the phone.

"Sorry Sir, we have no one checked in under that name, however we do have a T Cane with a room reserved. However he isn't scheduled to be in for 2 weeks" Shit! Alex had jumped the gun; he came in to Gotham to early. Apparently he didn't pay enough for his reliable information. Oh well, he could wait the days out in Gotham. However he had to go down to the post office, because a very important package had undoubtedly arrived for him.

He pulled a phone book out from under the table the phone sat on. He flipped through the Gotham yellow pages until he came to the section for "Car Rentals". He would need one. Seeing the ad for "Gotham Knight Auto Rentals" he picked up the phone and dialled in their number.

The phone rang and a rather surly sounding man answered.

"Yeah, Got'am Ca Rentels" He exclaimed, sounding like he was eating something as he was on the phone. Alex went about booking a car for a week, while he was on _business_ in Gotham. The guy on the other end went about the routine of getting his insurance information, credit card number, name and current residence. All of which Alex supplied was Fake. He gave the receptionist at the front desk of the hotel a fake name; he even mailed the important package to himself under a fake name. He did not want anybody knowing he was in Gotham.

"Alright, the ca will be ready in a hours," Exclaimed the surly man in his brisk un-identifiable accent. Alex thanked him and hung up the phone. Great he had an hour to kill. TV was always good for that.

He hunted down the remote and pointed it towards the large box on the far wall. The TV turned on with a click and a hum. Naturally the channel last on was CNN. Most people who could afford this room spent their time oscillating between that and Pay-Per-View porn.

The pretty boy newscaster was reporting on some press conference going on. The station constantly cut between him and the actual conference, like the production director suffered from ADD. Finally they switched the broadcast over to the full conference.

The press hall was filled with reporters snapping photos and trying desperately to get their question answered. Standing at the podium, with a big seal behind his head that read. "JLA was some guy in a very expensive business suit. The skin on his was laminated Gold and he had short neon green hair and two sharp orange eyes. The scrolling caption under him read "Star-Pulse: Superhero and Justice League Spokesman". He started to speak in mid sentence.

"First, as to the rumours that the JLA has formed a treaty with North Korean leader Gen, May Lu Wong I must say that we are in fact in current talks. However as to the rumours that we have offered JLA members for use in there military in exchange for the rights to North Korean gold deposits. Well let me just dismiss those as what they are, unsubstantiated and completely untrue rumours. The JLA has not, and would never arrive at such a deal with a foreign leader"

The press rushed to raise their hands and they began to shout out his name, begging for attention. He pointed to a female reporter in the front with his gold stubby finger. She quickly jumped to her question.

"Yes Mr. Star-Pulse. Cindy Mangles, Metropolis Daily Planet. How can you say you would never arrive at such a deal with a nations leader when in the past JLA members have secured Kuwaiti oil fields during the US invasion, in exchange for a percent of the profits from the oil sales?" Cindy's question seemed to make the pore less Star-Pulse sweat a little. The reporters from the Daily Planet were well known for their hard edge style reporting, and Star-Pulse had made a grave mistake in selecting one of there top investigative reporters for her question. He squirmed a little before he came up with his answer

"Well Cindy, I didn't say "nation's leader" I clearly said _foreign_ leader. Since the JLA is based out of America and is part of NATO we are more then obligated to assist whenever we can in matters of state and country. And well, the JLA, like any other organization requires funds to operate. What would you expect us to do, organize a bake sale?" he exclaimed in a patronizing manor. Every other reporter in the room laughed or giggled, not Cindy though. She just stood there fuming. Star-Pulse continued his speech.

"We are working towards this treaty in the name of peace and prosperity, that is what the JLA stands for, and that is what we have fought time and time again for" the cocky little gold freak gave a toothy grin. Alex reached for the remote and shut the TV off; he had had more then enough of that.

Alex stood up and wandered over to the large bay window. He looked over Gotham. A thick cloud of smog hung over the city, casting shadows into its depths. A city with a permanent veil of darkness hanging over its head. This certainly wasn't the Gotham city Alex read about as a kid. The large stone gargoyles had been replaced by TV and radio transponders, the Gothic buildings torn down and large glass towers erected in their place.

Behind him the phone began to ring. He walked over to it and lifted the receiver, putting it to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked waiting for a reply. On the other end was the receptionist from the front desk; she exclaimed that a car had arrived at the front for him from a Rental service. Had it been an hour already. "Alright, I'm coming down" he exclaimed, hanging up the phone promptly after.

He grabbed his room key and left the hotel room, locking it behind him. He walked to the elevator, and rode it down to the main lobby, were a driver greeted him with the keys to his black rental car. After he accepted them and signed for the car. The driver got in another car that came with him and drove off.

Alex got in his newly rented sedan and drove out into Gotham. The city was wall-to-wall traffic, he had to fight to get to the post office, and while he was there he had to wait in what seemed an endless line to get his package. A small box about the size of a textbook. He quickly whisked it out of the office and back into his car.

He sat there staring at it like it held inside all the answers to his problems. Yet he felt a mass of trepidation about opening it, like to do so would commit him to some terrible deed. He finally took in a deep breath and tore away the binding strip with his fingers. He discarded it into his passenger seat, and slowly lifted the box lids. He looked inside at the object, a small 22-calibre pistol with clip. He pulled it out and cocked in the clip. The gun was small in his hand, perfect for concealing in a coat pocket or inside a shirt.

He pulled back on the top, ejecting a bullet from the chamber. It flew through the air in a spinning motion. He caught it in a sudden display of reflexes. Fiddling, he ran it trough his fingers, examining it. Such a small thing, would it be capable of undoing so much pain. With his other free hand he reached over and rubbed the bit of scar tissue running up his neck and under his ear. It was always a helpful reminder whenever he felt like putting all his baggage away, he knew he couldn't. At the very least he couldn't until what he had to do was done. Two weeks, he had to kill time till then.

So what do you do in a town known for a figure that's been dead for nearly 20 years. Just then a bus pumping exuberant amounts of smog out of it's tail pipe passed. The side of it had a huge banner that read "Visit The Batman Museum, See The History". Why not, he was only going to be in Gotham once, might as well take in the sites. As inane as most of them would probably be. The batman museum didn't sound like it would be to bad, and he knew exactly how to get there to, from the comics we would read as a kid.

He slipped the stray bullet into his pocket and started up the car. He grabbed the gun out of the box and slipped it into his glove compartment for safekeeping. He then merged into traffic and headed for Wayne Manor.


	2. Chapter 2 Insperations

Chapter two 

Inspirations

The manor was exceedingly impressive on the drive up. The road to the estate took you directly through a long winding trail lined by a series of over shadowing oak trees. He felt like he had driven back a hundred years, like he was the last man on earth. He wondered if that is what the Batman felt when he would drive this same path, if as if this road way was his only true sanctuary from the things he hunted at night. This road way was a limbo for him, between the world of the Batman, and the world of Bruce Wayne. It was probably the only place were he was truly free from his past, from his pain.

Alex wished he could share in just a moment of that, but to him his past, his pain was as ever present as the scars he bore on his body. As if they existed only as devil, to sit forever on his shoulder and whisper taunting things in his ear. To be free of those whisperings, for even an instant would be something Alex was willing to kill for, something he was prepared to kill for.

Slowly, through the trees a faint image appeared. A huge mansion that hung over the horizon and blocked out the sun. Seeing the massive line up of cars that were crowding in from an adjacent road Alex realized that he must have taken a path that was not open, or even visible to the other tourists. Interesting, he had inadvertently come across a path that differed from the norm, but ultimately lead to the same destination.

He snuck his car into the front of the massive line up of people dieing to gawk at the fabulous Batman museum. A few people honked at them, but like most good citizens that was about as far as they were willing to go to defend something. He was again lucky to find a parking space fairly close to the manor.

He parked the black rental and stepped out. When he began to approach the manor's front doors he felt as if he was a ten-year-old kid again, reading about Batman's great adventures protecting Gotham city from the likes of the Joker and The Scarecrow. Another thing lost in the old days, super villains. There hadn't been an official super villain in the world in nearly 20 years. At least not since the JLA became a global organization and started serving as the official world police. World secret police more like.

Once Alex entered the manor he was instantly overcome by a sudden feeling of nostalgia. The place had been perfectly preserved, the main hall a grand place. A large staircase that wrapped up around the floors, a still bright red carpet beneath his feet. Over hanging chandeliers and cast dots of white light around the room. The place was a fine example of splendour and nobility.

Small crowds gathered near several tour guides. They commanded people to come over, and informed that the tours would begin in just a few moments. Wondering around aimlessly with a bunch of tourists from Milwaukee gawking at things they have no respect for wasn't exactly what Alex had in mind when he came her. Instead he quietly slipped away from the groups, choosing instead to focus his attention on the various paintings hanging around the main floor.

To be honest he didn't feel like he had all that much interest in Batman, but rather in Mr. Wayne. We wondered what a man who lived in this kind of house must have thought about. The answer to that question was undoubtedly simple, "being Batman". Passions can be consuming, Alex knew just as much about that as Mr. Wayne did. As the main hall began to empty as the masses of tourists entered the Bat cave exhibit through the door behind the large grandfather clock. Alex snuck back into the hall, not being noticed by a single person. At the very far end of the large foyer was a double wooden door. He became very curious about this.

Quickly he moved towards it, mindful of anyone who might be watching. He reached for the brass doorknob. Curiously it was unlocked. He twisted it until he heard the click of the bolt, the door became ajar.

Inside was dark, Alex could barley see anything. He was only able to make out a few vague shapes and objects. He ran his hand on the wall beside him looking for a light switch, instead he came across a plastic knob. He began to turn it, to no effect. Then he had an idea. He clicked it in.

Suddenly a huge ball of fire ignited at the other end of the room. As the flame receded he realized that the fire was coming from a large stone fireplace, and the knob was the control for the gas output. He let his racing heart slow down before he continued closer to the fireplace.

The flames of the fire were like little demons, dancing an evil dance of pain and remembrance. He could still remember the feel of the flames that tore the flesh from his back, and left him covered in burn scars. His back was a leathery ocean of skin grafts and burnt skin, rippled and stretched. When he was on fire, those many years ago, all he could think to do was protect his hands and his head. He did that very well, as they were among the only few parts of his body untouched by the flames.

During the fire he bent down, running out of the scorching halls in a hobbled position. The broad of his back bore the worst of the burns, and along his left arm as well. But not the face or hands.

He slowly looked up from the flames, noticing they had cast a strange glow on something, something rather large. Hanging above the fireplace was a very large, very old painting of a rather noble looking gentleman, and his beautiful brown haired wife. Around her neck hung a string pearl necklace. It was that item that made Alex realize who the couple was. He began to look at the painting with a slight sadness, as if he could feel a pain emanating from it. That pain must have been unbearable for the former resident of the manor, yet he must have stared at this piece of art with such diligence.

"What do you think your doing in here!?" Alex heard the feminine voice emanate from behind him. The room was suddenly filled with light. He turned around and saw a rather stunning red haired woman about his age. She was standing at the doorway, her finger still on the light switch next to her. Her face had a rather stern look on it. "This room is off limits to visitors" She exclaimed harshly to Alex, who had a rather modest expression across his face.

"Oh I apologize, I uh was just rather curious" His voice was sincerely apologetic, he began to walk to wards the woman, on his way to exit the room. "I just was interested in Mr. Wayne, I guess I let my curiosity get the better of me" He moved past her and was about to exit the room when she grabbed on of his arms and halted him.

"Hold on a moment, Mr. Wayne?" she asked, her face abound with a slight look of confusion. Alex had his own look of confusion. "You said "Mr. Wayne", that you were interested in Mr. Wayne, and not that you were interested in Batman" apparently she was flabbergasted by the idea that someone saw the man of this house as who he was, and not who his alter-ego was.

"Yeah, that was who lived here right, Mr. Bruce Wayne?" he asked slightly sarcastic. The gentle read haired woman smiled and let go of his arm. She extended her hand in greetings.

"Samantha Grayson, but everyone just calls me Sam" she introduced her self, Alex went over the name in his head. He took her small hand and shook it in friendship.

"Alex Madsen..." he introduced himself, he paused for a moment then looked into Sam's eyes. "Did you say Samantha _Grayson?_, as in Richard Grayson?" Sam nodded bashfully, she flicked back her red hair from her eyes.

"Yes, he was my Grandfather. In fact I run this place. I inherited the manor after my father's death. You see Bruce Wayne didn't have any children or spouses, so he willed the estate to his former ward and protégé... my Grandfather, who willed it to my father, who willed it me. I've tried to keep the place in a preserved condition over the years, and I keep it funded by the Batman museum down stairs. Everything in it I also inherited along with the estate" She chuckled and brushed her long hair away from her eye's again. "but forget about me, tell me Mr. Madsen. What interests you so much about _Mr. Wayne_"

Alex moved past her and back towards the large painting. He looked it over then turned back to Sam.

"This mainly" He exclaimed. "I just find it so refreshing to see that someone who has been deified into some God amongst men was himself just a man overwhelmed by some past pain. That is what this painting represents, past tragedy" he gestured to wards the painting as he spoke, analyzing the brush strokes and use of light with his hands.

Sam noticed this, she watched his hand gesture over it. Deducing all the while about this man. Trying to figure him out. Being a detective ran in her family, old habits passed down from generation to generation. She approached the painting and stood next to him, looking it over. She had looked it over many times, trying to see just what it was that _he_ saw all those years ago.

"It really does say so much, with so little. I imagine that when the artist painted it he had no idea that it would become such a symbol for both pain, and justice. To him it was no more then a pay check, but to Bruce, it would become an icon for his life" here words struck deep into Alex's heart. He held a solemn look over his face, as if it were carved from stone. He lowered his eyes to the floor, then he looked over at Sam, searching her face for answers.

"Pain can be a hard thing to live with, especially when it runs deep. I imagine that Bruce Wayne had no choice. Sometimes our only defence against the pain is to make it a part of us. And pretty soon the pain takes over, and all we have left is the will to appease it. I just wish that everybody who has suffered could find a constructive a way to deal with it" He chuckled, if that were the case there would be a hundred Batman's in Gotham. Everybody loses someone. But not like him, no one should ever lose anyone like him.

A panicky feeling suddenly came over Alex, he had to get out of there now. His mouth was dry and the room was swelling. He gulped back on the dry lump that seemed to be closing his throat.

"I... I have to go!" he stuttered, pulling away. Sam protested.

"Wait, why?!" she yelled. Reaching for him. In a moment of reflex she grabbed him, clasping onto his pocket. Alex tugged again and the old jacket pocket tore from his body, spilling its contents on the hard wood floor. Among them keys, half a pack of Rolaids, loose change, and a single 22-calibre bullet. Sam looked at it in horror. She bent down slowly and picked it up. Her eyes immediately darted up to Alex, who had that same stone face he had earlier. "What is this?" she exclaimed, holding the bullet up so Alex could see. Alex turned away from her for a moment, ashamed of what he had done, or rather what he was going to do.

"It's a bullet for the gun I have in my glove compartment," He whispered over his shoulder, turning his head slightly back to her. He dropped his shame filled eyes to the floor. "The gun I'm going to use to kill a man named Eddie Mallow. I was going to put a bullet, similar to the one in your hand between his eyes" Sam gasped and recoiled, her face covered in shock.

"Why, why would you ever want to take the life of another human being!?" She truly didn't understand why anyone would want to kill another person, she had always been raised to respect life, no matter who's it was. Alex spun around to her, a fierceness in his eyes.

"Because he stole _everything_ from me!" His rage poured out, all the rage he had held onto for so long, out in an instant. His heart began to slow and he calmed his nerves, swallowing the rage back down, deep inside of him.

"Everything?" Asked boy wonder's descendant, approaching him slowly, compassionately. "what could he have possibly done to deserve such hatred?" Her voice was soft, caring, truly empathetic. Alex removed his jacket and tossed it on a nearby char. Slowly he began to unbutton his single long sleeve shirt. At first Sam was confused, but once the picture began to emerge she slowly realized.

Alex slipped the shirt of, his bare torso exposed to her. He turned around slowly, just catching out of the corner of his eye, Sam's face dropping in a morbid look. She saw the massive burns all over his back, crinkled and red. Like someone had taken a combine to him. Large patches of transplanted skin from his legs and buttocks were grafted onto the severely burned parts. It was a horrifying sight Sam would remember till she died. She put her hand over her ajar mouth and backed slightly away.

Alex turned back to Sam, his eyes coated in a fine mist.

"Five years ago I was a lead dancer in a Ballet troop. A man named Albert Allan's ran the troop. He was world renowned for his choreographing and artistic style. He built a recital house, "The Sapphire House". It quickly became very popular, and with that attracted a lot of elements that could see themselves profiting from us. One of these elements was a man named Eddie "The Hammer" Mallow, a thug and mobster. He tried to make himself silent partner, but Albert wouldn't have it. The Sapphire House was more then a business, it was our home. We lived in a series of apartments on the top floor. One night while we slept Mallow and his punks set fire to the main hall" Alex paused for a moment, choking back tears. "The fire spread, and pretty soon it was everywhere. I tried to get everyone out, but on my way out I the roof gave out. I was rained on by pure flame, burning me over my body. The House burnt down, and Albert was sent into bankruptcy. The troop was disbanded, and Albert killed himself a few months later. Mallow did all that, and for it he should be punished like no one before him!"

Sam sat down in a nearby chair, overwhelmed with the story she just heard. She clutched her heart, the stress of the situation had gotten to it. Reaching in her pocket she pulled out a container full of heart medication. She downed a few pills and looked back up at Alex, who had also collapsed into a nearby chair.

"So what, you're just going to walk up to him and blow his brains out?" She asked, monotonous, as if she was physically exhausted. Alex shook his head, he sniffed back the loose emotions and wiped his eyes with his thumb.

"No... I mean yes but..." he shook his head again and wrapped his fingers around his face. "I just don't want it to be that easy, it can't be that easy. I have to do something else, it can't just be a pull of the trigger and it's over. Mallow, he's the kind of guy that, even if he looking down a gun, he wouldn't be phased. I want to make him feel something, I just... I just want him to... to..." Alex looked up from his thoughts. His eyes once again wondered to the large painting of the Wayne's. Something came over him, a sort of epiphany. His eye's widened and he at up intently in his chair. The finally with a whisper he uttered.

"I want him to _fear_ me"


End file.
